Death Echo

the mattress in the master stateroom. Not proof against a real thief, but all she wanted was to minimize the chances of “accidental” discovery by a guest on the boat.

By the time she came back to the main cabin and locked down her cell phone, Mac had turned on the joystick and was inching closer to Redhead II. The water was almost as calm as a backyard swimming pool-with teenagers performing cannonball dives. But much nicer than the open strait.

“Lee of the island,” she said, sighing. “I think I’m in love.”

“Would you rather handle the talk or the joystick?” was all Mac said.

She decided that the water wasn’t all that calm. “Talk.”

“Put out fenders on the starboard side so that they’ll protect us from the Redhead II.” Without looking away from the other boat, he handed her one of the headsets. He was already wearing the other.

She yanked the headset into place and turned it on. “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“With Demidov, I’m going for total arm candy with just enough brains so a man knows the difference between me and a blow-up doll,” she said.

“Can’t wait for you to try out that act with me,” was all Mac said.

“That way, I have a fallback position,” she added. “With him, not you.”

She put four fenders overboard in record time before she looked up to check their position.

Redhead II was breathtakingly close.

“Good god. Why don’t I just throw him a headphone?” she muttered under her breath.

“We may need it later,” Mac said. “If you can keep him off the boat-”

“I’d rather drown him than let him aboard,” she said quickly.

“Get his info first, then do whatever you can get away with.”

She laughed. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just what every mother wants for her daughter.”

“No. Just what every daughter wants for herself.”

Emma stepped outside.

Like Mac, Lina was at the wheel, working to keep the two boats close enough, but not too close. Demidov was standing on the port side, waiting. He had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, staring across to Blackbird.

At that moment, Emma believed every word in the files about Demidov that she had just scanned. Her pulse jumped, but not in a happy way.

That is one really hard piece of work, she thought. If you’re fooled by the gray hair, you’re dead.

She moved her microphone a few inches to the side. No use shouting in Mac’s ears. This way, he might be able to hear both conversations.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” she said, pitching her voice to reach across the boats. “Who are you?”

“I would rather come aboard to talk,” Demidov said.

His face was angular, lean, fined down like that of a ballet dancer still trying to hold center stage with dancers half his age.

It made him look all the more dangerous.

Discipline, experience, and talent all in one package, she thought unhappily.

Then she got down to work.

“The captain told me he would rather talk over the sides. Gunwales?” she asked, going for nautically clueless. “Is that what you call them?”

“I wish to make a business proposition,” he said, ignoring her attempt to engage him in getting-to-know-you chatter.

“That’s the captain’s department,” she said. “I’m just a first mate in training. But I know he doesn’t like strangers on board. He’s really touchy that way.”

If Demidov was surprised or angry, it didn’t show in his body language. “We don’t need to be strangers.”

Emma pretended to be listening to her earphones. “Babe, I can’t follow two people at once,” she complained. Then she glanced at Demidov. “I didn’t mean you. I’m listening to Captain Babe.”

A strangled sound came through her earphones-Mac trying not to laugh out loud.

“All right, all right, I’ll ask him,” she said with a whiny edge in her voice. A few seconds later she looked back to Demidov. “Captain Babe wants to know if coming aboard is, uh, required.” Then she held up her hand before Demidov could answer. “Captain Babe says he’ll waste some fuel out of curiosity, but he won’t risk the boat.”

Demidov thought about it for two seconds. “Shurik Temuri may be a covert actor, but he is not one of ours.”

Talk about cutting to the chase, Emma thought, but she kept her game face on. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“To you?” Demidov’s upper lip almost curled. “No. To your Captain Babe, yes.”

She looked blank. “Uh, he wants to know who ‘ours’ is.” She shook her head and asked Demidov, “Does that make sense?”

This time the Russian didn’t bother to conceal his contempt. “I work for the Russian Federation. Shurik Temuri is Georgian.”

“Georgia?” she asked. “As in really yummy peaches? Shurik doesn’t sound like a Southern name. I’m getting confused, here.”

Mac made another strangled sound in her ear.

“What?” she whined into her microphone. “Everyone knows about Georgia peaches.”

“Quit teasing him or he’ll demand to come aboard,” Mac said.

“Can your captain hear me?” Demidov asked impatiently.

“Can you?” she asked the mic.

“Yes.”

“He says he can.” Her voice was doubtful.

“Excellent,” Demidov said. “Then you will shut up and let us talk.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she said.

“Emma,” came through her headphones.

“Oh, fine, just see if I handle your lines again,” she said into the microphone. Then she waved at Demidov. “Talk. Captain Babe is listening.”

Demidov looked past her and pitched his voice to carry into Blackbird’s cabin. “Temuri was once a citizen of Russia. Now he is its enemy.”

“And the captain cares…because?” she muttered.

“Good question. Why do I care?”

Demidov waited.

Emma pushed. “He said, why should he care?”

“That is something he shouldn’t discuss through an intermediary,” Demidov said.

His expression told her that he had a much less polite word than intermediary in mind. Whore, probably. Or worse. Temuri certainly had been creative.

She turned to Mac, silently questioning.

“I want to get to Campbell River tonight,” he said, covering his mic.

“He says-”

“I heard him,” Demidov cut in. “Shurik Temuri is a relative of Stan Amanar and Bob Lovich.”

Very quickly Mac came out on deck, holding the joystick. Emma gave him a look and stepped back, well out of the way.

“Keep talking,” Mac said. “Tell me why I wasted fuel on you.”

“Have you told your so-called first mate that she is a party to smuggling?”

Emma let her eyes go wide. “Uber kewl! What kind?”

Both men ignored her.

“No contraband is on board,” Mac said. “I made sure of it. The Canadians double-checked.”